Shattered Bones
by Glove-Puppet
Summary: Her stare is louder than your voice, because truth doesn't make a noise.


Disclaimer: _Truth Doesn't Make a Noise_ is by the White Stripes. And, of course, Baz has **Moulin Rouge!**.

I watch her dance, as I have every night since I first came to Montmarte. I hide in the shadowed corners, staring, her ill, suffering lover. But I am not all woe and bones. Do not blame me for hating the way her passion for me seems so little when she's on the stage. She's acting her way out of this, what she doesn't want. But this dance hall can't keep her lips away from mine for long. Her body belongs here, yes, cascading across the dance floor in her high kicks and smooth turns. But her heart, her soul, belongs to me.

Our love mingles between the lines of love and hate, beauty and grotesque, trust and jealousy. She is passion, and I am fire. I kindle her with more blaze, combustion, than any other man. A dance is never conceived and performed alone. She always needed a partner, someone to catch her if she falls. But with her perfection, her perfect ivory legs and ratted fishnet stockings, I know she could be on her own. She would never miss a step, my lovely girl, ragged as she is. And still, I am her Lucifer.

The way she arches her back, how she longs for the forbidden touch. Kisses drenched in salty tears seal our promise each night when we must part, for it's our secret that shadows our hearts. We could never be heroes in the world of courtesans and performers in the Underworld.

_My baby's got a heart of stone  
can't you people just leave her alone  
she never did nothing to hurt you  
so just leave her alone_

Shattered in my dreams, all I ever see are men beating her skin with broken absinthe bottles, bruising it with their fists, drunk off of the fake ecstasy she gives each night. I can see her lips paled and eyes bloodshot, crying in a corner where I can't handle her, feel her heart beat less and less beneath her broken ribcage. Her mask busted by her bloodied toes, cavernous holes ogled at endlessly by men with yellowed teeth and shirts. I would ask her to come away with me, to keep her wrapped somewhat tightly in my arms. But my rough hands, my violent hands, would blemish her just as easily.

_The motion of her tiny hands  
and the quiver of her bones below  
are the signs of a girl alone  
and tell you everything  
you need to know_

My hair stands on end when her fingers bristle my heart, a rush of violin notes swimming inside of me, ripping and mending the tissues of my sympathy for her, however useless. She loves to brush my inner legs with long fingernails, the temptation she knowingly gives. It may be a performance in the theatre, but it's a truth under these sheets. Let us dance, quite solitary and alone. I tell you to forget conviction, but you wave our castle in the sky away. Raw and on the lip, you tell me limber legs and a pounding heart is all you need. Don't lie to me, now. Forget the cruel men of riches and aspiration that put a limp to your stride, a fault to your heel's spin.

_I can't explain it  
I feel it often  
every time I see her face  
but the way you treat her  
fills me with rage and I  
want to tear apart the place_

This is jealousy, my lovers. I cannot avoid it. They rip her open each night and dig inside her, ruining the beauty only my foreign eyes can see, what my foreign tongue can taste. They stain her with infection, impurities (though, I suppose, no whore can be pure). I just want her to whisper to me in the words I hear the Diamond utter. They're fairytale. I don't want the clouds and stars, glamour and sparkle, smiles and blown kisses that come with this enchanted love. I only want her.

_You try to tell her what to do  
and all she does is stare at you  
her stare is louder than your voice  
because truth doesn't make a noise_

None of you can touch her. She's far too lithe for you to ever lay a hand on her. How I loathe Zidler for what he's done. Men at her feet, crawling like rats to another trap. I'm just another fool to Nini, aren't I?

I know we do not deny the stars, or find ourselves ill-fated lovers. We are the love that meets namelessly each night behind a dirty curtain of wear and faded crimson. We are the indefinite. Just dance with me, my pálido Diablo. You need no jewel to light your frozen eyes. We will find our own night sky.

We will pursue this dance. 


End file.
